Lion Head Mesa when he calls your name, it all fades to black

Her plea awoke something long dormant inside the hebsut—something like possessiveness. He knew it was likely a mixture of his fondness for the sesh and the scent of her season. It was a potent mix, one that shoved at his control the longer it surrounded him. I will, he promised, nuzzling into her neck. 

Her question made his heart jump. I like to be around you, he told her. Even though it is difficult to control myself. Her hip bumped his and sent a jolt of need through his body. He couldn't help his response as he nipped and kissed along her neck. It would take nothing at all to shove away that last threads of his control, he knew that; he chose to stay anyway. She had requested it from him, and he refused to upset her. Nothing else mattered in this moment.